Up in the Air
by breatheinsync
Summary: A drabble to make up for the Olivia and Fitz on Air Force One scene we were deprived of!


He saw her in profile, the slight angle of her jawline, the rounded curve of her lips, the slope of her nose, but her eyes were turned away, gazing out the window. The darkness outside the window accentuated her pensive look, framed her face like a portrait. The few staff members they'd brought along on this trip back home to California had retreated into the large conference room, Cyrus lording over them as they researched the long list of options for his first State of the Union speech. Eventually, the three of them would narrow it down, shape it into the narrative of the sort of leader he wanted to be.

For now, he couldn't seem to focus on anything beyond the sort of man he was. He had stood in that spot, rooted by the power of her beauty. It was no surprise to anyone that she was classically lovely, all high cheekbones and delicate limbs, but it was the quiet moments that grabbed at him. Like now. Blinking to clear his mind, he moved to her, chest forward, long stride.

"I don't think I saw you on the official tour of Air Force One, miss," he said, standing before her as she sat in one of the spacious lounge chairs, her laptop resting on her thighs. Momentarily startled, she looked up at him, registering his words before the left corner of her mouth quirked up.

"I was very busy being underpaid and overworked by my tyrant of a boss," she responded, her hands resting by her side. He nodded his chin toward her laptop before quirking his head toward the long hallway. Her eyebrow gracefully moved upward before meeting his eyes. He couldn't hide the excitement, the anticipation, desire always present in the background. For a second she seemed to consider before shutting the top on her laptop and standing up.

"I guess I could take a short break." Her words made him grin unabashedly. He wanted to take her hand, but he knew she wouldn't allow it when there were staffers still loitering around the door. He moved ahead of her, leading down the long hallway, turning so they were headed towards the president's private rooms.

Once they entered the residential space, he did take her hand, responding to her slightly surprised expression with a gentle brush of his mouth to the top of her hair.

"So this is the gym," he described, opening the door to show her the fitness equipment that glistened, despite the lack of use.

"How fun," she replied in a monotone, eliciting a laugh in response.

He guided her through the rest of the rooms, ("This is my office," "How empty," a pointed look before a shared chuckle) before they saw Tom standing toward the end of the hall, his hands held behind his back, standing straight as ever.

"What room is that?" she asked, though her playful, teasing tone told him that she was already aware of what room that might be.

"Give me a moment," he said, earning him a crinkling of her eyebrows before she nodded in agreement, heading into the room, giving him a moment to make sure Tom would ensure that their privacy was protected for the evening.

**/**

The room shouted luxury. From the thick, plush carpeting that had her toeing off her shoes to run her bare feet through it, to the expansive bed situated as the centerpiece of the room to the deeply navy chairs arranged in the corner, it spoke of power. She stood in the center of it for a moment, feeling suddenly unable to keep a tight rein on her emotions.

She climbed onto the bed, sitting at the edge of it but sliding back far enough so only her toes brushed against the carpet now, looking at them and then up again as Fitz entered the room. Smoothly, he slipped off his blazer and dropped it onto the arm of one of the chairs. She knew she ought to feel some guilt, but it wasn't there in the mosaic of her emotions. Instead, she was struck by the rightness of him being there in the room, of being the sort of man who deserved to be in this room. Her palms rested on the soft covers of the perfectly made as he stalked forward, the sight of his fingers undoing button on his cuff bringing up the memory of his Inauguration day.

Her seated position only accentuated the difference in their size and she reveled in it, the delightful height of his body, the width of his shoulders, the length of his fingers and slowly slid further back on the bed in invitation. She lay back for a moment against the pillows, fully clothed, her hair spilling over the cream-colored pillow, thick and soft. He kneeled at the edge of the bed, silent and still, simply watching her in a way that brought heat to her skin.

"Fitz," she murmured, the sound tinted with her desire for him. His lips curved, a slow smile, as his fingers skimmed up the sides of her legs to her hips, his body moving further up until he was over her, his mouth a taunting breath from hers.

"Say it," he whispered, as his sneaky hands moved to the button of her slacks, the barely audible sound of them undoing the button and the rasp of him dragging down the zipper. She played coy, biting on the inside of her lip to keep from grinning in response.

"Say what?" she asked, her tone innocent, another move in the game they played. It never failed to delight her when he made her feel seduced and seductive in the same breath. She challenged him to chase her, to follow her down the rabbit hole.

"Say it," he repeated, the words emphasized by the movement of his hand delving inside of her slacks, deeper inside to flimsier fabric, and then finding her. Her eyes widened in unison with her sharp inhale, her back arching as her hips greedily pressed herself against his hand. Her arms lifted to slide around his waist, impatiently tugging at his shirt, needing to feel the glide of his skin under her fingers, but he didn't help, didn't speed up. She felt the tension in his body, the desire for her surrender as he rubbed his warm lips over her temple.

With a smug smirk, he moved backward on the bed, away from her as his hands pushed her blouse up to the bottom curve of her breasts. For a second, she felt only his nose brushing against the tender skin at her ribcage before his wicked mouth moved to drag his tongue over her hipbone. She felt the disappearance of her slacks, the lazy lowering of her panties, feeling his teasing kisses along the crevice where leg met body. The sensation of his teeth suddenly biting down on the tenderness at the inside of her thighs earned him a desperately breathy moan, her fingers reaching for him.

"Say it," he mumbled, lifting his head to meet her eyes, watching her as he trailed a line of kisses tauntingly close to where she wanted him. But he held back, demanding more from her. Her hands fell away from him, clutched at the sheets, closing her eyes in abandon.

"Fitz," she said again, the tone needy, the hint of a whine, but he tugged at her skin playfully with his teeth, gentle enough to only arouse.

"No," he answered, skimming the back of his nails along her thighs, higher and higher, but avoiding the center, the apex. His hands tortured her with this repeated back-and-forth as he used the edge of his bottom lip to scrape along the sensitive skin directly between her hipbones.

"Mr. President," she whimpered, the sound earning a low groan of pleasure from Fitz, his mouth dropping a single kiss to her slick folds before he dragged the flat of his tongue over her. Her body bowed up and he gave over his tongue, lips, teeth to the singular task of pleasuring her, of making her limbs tremble in anticipation, to feeling her skin heat up. He basked in the glow of her skin heating up under his, the blush covering the delicate line of her torso, the taste of her sweetness coating his tongue.

He savored.

She was devoured.

**/**

She tried to hide her foolish grin, but failed as she smoothed down the wrinkles on her blouse. Looking up, she saw him sitting on the edge of the bed, slipping into his shoes. For a second, she felt exposed, without defenses, destroyed by her love for him. Crossing the room, she moved until she stood before him, her hand stroking his soft hair gently. He looked up, the brief flicker of surprise before he accepted. Leaning his head into the touch, he let himself be stroked, soothed, adored. She needed this brief respite, to feel the freedom of simple affection for the man she loved wholly. Allowing herself a few cleansing breaths, she kissed his temple gently before stepping back.

He looked up at her with a twinkle in his eyes.

"I wonder if George and Laura joined the mile high club," he said, grinning like a delighted child.

"Fitz!" she said, attempting to reprimand but failing as she smiled down at him.

"What? I don't know about the Clintons, but you can't honestly tell me that Ronald Reagan didn't at least try some funny business? Come on, Livvie!"

"I'd rather just not imagine any of their...extracurricular activities."

"Fine, but I just like to know about the company I keep," he told her, holding the door open as they slipped back into the hallway. Walking slower now, knowing that once they left the residential area, they'd be back to pretenses and distance. In a few more feet, a handful of steps, he'd be married again, and she would be alone.

For now, his words, however humorous, felt like a promise. Because the mile high club tradition he'd aligned them with, the list he'd added their name to, had been of presidents and their first ladies.

* * *

**A/N: Another drabbly bit, this time a request of "Olitz and Air Force One." I hope you guys enjoy! **


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